One More Miracle
by wholocked98
Summary: John finds Sherlock alive, but definitely not well. John isn't sure anything will help, while Sherlock isn't sure John wants to. Post-Reichenbach, some spoilers and fluff! WARNING: some self-harm, please read with caution.
1. 1, Moving On

**A/N: HI GUYS! THIS IS MY FIRST FANFIC, BUT PLEASE DON'T HESITATE TO CRITICIZE! I LOVE KNOWING WHAT TO WORK ON IN MY WRITING. THIS STORY WILL SWITCH OFF FROM SHERLOCK'S POV TO JOHN'S, USUALLY EVERY CHAPTER, BUT I'LL POST THE POV JUST TO BE SURE. THANKS FOR CHOOSING MY FANFIC!**

**NOW WITHOUT FURTHER ADIEU… **

_**(SHERLOCK'S POV)**_

"One more miracle. One more thing, for me, Sherlock. Don't. Be… Dead." John's voice cracked on the last word, and from where I sat, a good distance away, I saw a few tears slide down his cheek when he walked away. As I watched him, I knew why I loved him. Why I always had, and always will. His caring nature and compassion from the very beginning was like a drug to me. One that I was more than eager to take the moment it was presented to me. I followed him with my eyes as he walked to where Mrs. Hudson had been waiting for him, and continued to soak up the image as he disappeared into the car, and the car disappeared from my sight. Only after I was sure that I could no longer see it did I lean against the old oak behind me for support. My heart began to ache, and tears made their way down my face and neck. My John, my love, the one person who had really truly meant something to me in life; it hurt to see him so tortured by the pain of my 'death'. But I knew that somewhere in my selfish thoughts that I would rather see him so hurt yet still alive because of me instead of seeing him dead and lifeless for the same reason. I felt the sharp pain of my thoughts slowly fade away into a dull, throbbing ache in my heart and an unusually empty mind. My new normal. I made my way slowly to the far parking lot in search of Molly's car. I found her waiting near the exit, and I climbed into the passenger side without a word. She pulled out quickly and we rode in an uncomfortable silence back to her small flat; where I was currently staying for the time being.

It had been extremely kind of her to let me in, even though she knew exactly what I had done. Mycroft was aware of my doing as well, but going to him for a place to live would only be admitting defeat. So I had taken up Molly's spare room. Although for the most part I ended up on her couch in the sitting room. Everything had stopped since that day on top of Bart's hospital roof, or at least everything I care to pay attention to. Around me, the world kept on spinning. So pointless, so _boring_. But I sat quietly, my mind focused on only one thing, my heart wanting only one person, the only person I knew I could never have again.

When we reached the flat, I made no attempt to hide my pain and rushed through the door to the sitting room. Molly followed me in, a little more slowly, closing and locking the door behind her. The blinds were drawn all throughout the already dim house, I clicked on the lamp nearest me, and a yellowish light poured over the room as I curled up facing the back of the couch. Hiding my face in the closest pillow, I tried to wipe away the tears furiously pouring down my face before Molly walked in. Not that she hadn't seen me like this before; I had been a wreck ever since… I didn't even want to remember the day. But I still clung to the bit of dignity that remained. Her footsteps became louder, then silent as she stepped into the carpeted room. No words were spoken, but she knew exactly what was wrong -she was most peculiar in that way- and as if she was my mother, she tossed a thin blanket over my body. I thought a silent thank you, assuming it would be heard only by me, but she seemed to understand and tiptoed out. As she left, the light bulb flickered, and went out. I didn't bother getting up to try and fix it; it wasn't exactly a very important thing to do. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I noticed a small sliver of light across the floor from a crack in the blinds, and I watched the small bits of dust floating around, dancing in the light, carefree little particles circling around each other, mesmerizing yet still _so boring_. My thoughts wandered aimlessly through my dark, cold mind palace. It all seemed so foreign now, empty halls and quiet rooms, but I didn't bother with them, my only desire to reach the little glow of light always just a bit too far out of my reach.

I must've fallen asleep at some point, something I'd been doing a lot more often lately, because when I opened my eyes, the dust was gone. Along with the little piece of daylight. I sat up, trying to gain control of my body, which was still stiff from sleep. My head pounded, and my eyes were extremely dry, proof that I had in fact been crying before I fell asleep. The lamp was still burnt out, and I was wrapped in complete and utter darkness. I shivered; even though the room itself was warm, my whole body felt like ice. I pulled the blanket around my shoulders a bit tighter, trying to create some kind of warmth for me to feel, but nothing changed. I was still sitting there totally alone, everything that I needed and wanted, and… Even _loved_. It was all gone. I heard someone shuffling around in the next room, and wondered what time it was. Looking around the room for a clock, I spied my phone sitting on the small table on the opposite side. I tried to get up, tried to go and grab it from the table. _Too bad you have no one to bring it to you anymore, _my mind whispered, in a heartbreakingly familiar voice. I willed myself to stand, imagined walking over and picking it up off the table, but my body wouldn't comply. My own body betraying me, taunting me… I gave it up, and was about to lie back down and drown in the emptiness of my own head when there was a very soft knock at the front door.

I didn't even bother to get up and see who it was, not worried that it may be for me. No one important would be looking. They all think I'm dead. I heard Molly's quiet but hurried footsteps as she made her way to the door. About a minute had passed, and I listened as the lock clicked, and the door creaked a little as it was swung open. I waited for someone to speak, to move, to even _breathe_. Just so I could at least attempt to figure out who the mystery person was. I thought about sneaking a peek down the hall and try to see the front door, but once again, my body failed me; I couldn't even raise a hand to help pull myself up. I gave up, and resolved to just listen. I didn't have to wait long; a moment later I heard Molly draw a sharp breath and begin to speak. It seemed to take forever for her to form the words, although it was actually less than a second before the words came out of her mouth.

"Oh, John."


	2. 2, Spare Room

**A/N: I DON'T OWN SHERLOCK. Or John, or Molly, or anyone else… Obviously. They belong to the brilliant mind of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss.**

**Hope you all enjoyed Chapter 1! Once again, if you have any comments whatsoever, please mention them to me! This is still Sherlock's POV, we will get a little glimpse into the mind of the wonderful John Watson during later chapters. Thanks for sticking with me.**

**CHAPTER 2**

**(**_**SHERLOCK'S POV)**_

"Oh, John."

Everything stopped.

"Hi Molly, how are you?" All of a sudden, my whole body was crawling with energy, adrenaline pumping though my veins. Just his voice making me more alert than I'd been in a very long time. My head was spinning, round and round it went circling the only thing I had left. John. I was ready to burst out of the sitting room, run to him and just see his face, just let him know that I was still here. Still alive. But before I could reach the doorknob I stumbled back as reality hit me like a blow to the head. _I can't go out there,_ I thought._ He can't know that I'm still alive. Moriarty's snipers will find him and kill him_. I felt a lump rising in my throat as I grasped the fact. I couldn't go out there and tell him I was alright. I couldn't just burst out of the sitting room and into his unsuspecting arms. I couldn't. I barely noticed as I sank to the floor, tears stinging the back of my eyes. This was so unlike me, I never cried this much, even as a child I had been very quiet and unemotional. But now, with nothing left to lose and everything I was absolutely destroyed, I was stripped of my guard, of the wall that had held back all of those confusing and useless feelings that I'd been too busy to deal with. And now here I was, totally undone. All alone, crying and broken for anyone to see. Knowing that John wouldn't be here forever, I crawled to the door, pressing the side of my face against the cool wood and listened to the conversation taking place in the other room.

"… So what brings you here so unexpectedly?" Molly said, I hadn't realized how little time had passed in the real world, and I pressed my cheek closer to the door, waiting for John to speak, needing his voice to anchor my mind back to reality.

"Well, I was wondering if I could stay here, just for a night or two. Baker Street is, well, I just need some time away. To sort myself out." I felt my whole body grow a little weak, as what I had done to John, my best friend, was once again drawn to my attention.

"Um, well, let me go," Molly was looking for any excuse to come and check with me, "Check to see that my spare room is suitable! Go ahead and make yourself a cup of tea in the kitchen. I'll be back in a moment." I heard John grunt a reply, and a few moments later, she burst into the sitting room. She hesitated as she took in my current position on the floor, tears still dripping from the corners of my eyes.

"Um, Sherlock, are you…?" She trailed off, probably not knowing exactly what to ask. I stood, a bit wobbly on my feet, but managed to stay upright. Smoothing my shirt down and adjusting it over my tall and lanky frame I gave Molly a curt nod.

"Fine, yes." Even Molly could see through my lie.

"Right, now what about John? What am I supposed to say to him? I can't just say no!" She asked me, panic creeping into her voice. I lowered my gaze, realizing how suddenly interesting the floor seemed to be. My voice was quiet and slightly strained as I replied, "he can take the spare room. I'll go and stay with Mycroft." Just thinking about going to my older brother made me shiver. That was one thing that I had never done, and never wanted to do. "Tell John he can stay, I'll go and grab my things." My voice faltered and the last words came out in a whisper. But I slowly began to make my way to the door, intending to get my bag and leave as soon as I could. Molly realized what I was doing though, and she grabbed my wrist as I walked by.

"No, you're staying. You don't have anywhere to go, and I'm not stupid enough to make you leave and go to your brother." Her tone was quiet but firm, which surprised me. Molly was not usually one to go against others. Still a little shocked that she had told me to stay, I didn't speak. So she told me what she would do.

"John can stay on the couch. I'll go tell him that I'm using my spare room for a project, or an experiment or something. Then you can just stay in there, he'll never see you." She smiled, satisfied with her plan. I shook my head, "No, let him stay in the spare room. I'll move my things out and stay on the floor in the study. He can have the room." With that, I went to the spare room to collect the few things I'd brought with me.

I heard Molly downstairs, telling John he was welcome to her spare room, and apologizing for taking so long. She'd needed to 'tidy up a bit'. He didn't care one bit, thanking her profusely and promising to pay her back somehow. I quit eavesdropping and tiptoed to the study, clicking the door shut quietly behind me. I sat there, trying desperately to shoo away the thoughts buzzing around in my head, wishing for the first time ever, that I could just stop thinking. I was so busy trying to clear my mind that at first I didn't notice Molly walk in. She cleared her throat, jerking me back to reality.

"Do you need me to get you some sheets? A blanket, or even a pillow? You could at least try and get comfortable." She said, her face was troubled, brow knit furiously over her concerned eyes.

"No, I should be fine. Not tired." I brushed off the question, just wanting her to leave me to my thoughts.

"Would you like to come and have something to eat? John went to bed a while ago, he wasn't doing too well." She offered, obviously hoping to get some kind of reaction out of me. I worked to keep my face as straight as I could manage, but still couldn't stop a sigh from escaping my lips.

"Molly, I would prefer if you just leave-" I stopped myself mid-sentence, knowing that I was extremely rude, she was doing so much for me, and I had no way of repaying her. I shook my head, and started over. "Molly, thank you, but I won't need anything." I smiled politely, and she shrugged, walking away without another word. She hadn't been the same, ever since I asked for her assistance in my 'suicide'. She had become less of an acquaintance and more of a friend, or even like a mother. She had kept me together and intact, made sure that I had eaten, and that I slept enough. _If she hadn't been here,_ I began to wonder, _who would've?_ I looked around the room, not finding anything interesting. I grew bored, and began to slowly travel around my mind palace. I looked into empty rooms, abandoned corridors, searching for something that I could cling on to, some reminder of what I'd had. Finally, after hours of aimless wandering, I came across a door.

Locked.

It was radiating with energy, sad and happy at the same time, but still pulsating with life. I knew I could unlock it at any time; the key was right with me, always there. But I couldn't bring myself to open it, to face all of those emotions and memories. They were all too foreign. I'd never bothered with feelings, they were too boring- at least that's what I had told myself years ago. But now, as I sat all alone, I began to wonder if maybe, just maybe, I had hidden it all away because I was _frightened_. I was scared of what might happen; worried that I wouldn't be able to concentrate and control myself once I let them in. John said that friends keep you safe, but look where having friends got me. I had to die. In their eyes, I was gone and never returning.

Alone was what had kept me safe.

**A/N: Okay, that is CHAPTER 2. I hope you liked it! I'll try and update once more tonight, but if not, I will definitely be updating once every day. Expect updates early in the morning or late at night! Chapters will get longer later. Chapter 3 is going to be a little bit angst-y, watch out! **


	3. 3, Open Doors

**A/N: Hey, this is chapter 3! Thanks for reading, this story got 172 views! Not sure if that's good or bad… But this **_**is **_**my first FanFic. Anyway, you know the drill. I don't own anyone in the story! They belong to BBC, ACD, The Moffinator and Mark Gatiss. This is the last chapter in Sherlock's POV for a bit, and then we'll start switching off. Enjoy!**

**(**_**Sherlock's POV)**_

Alone is what kept me safe.

John had tried to show me that I was more than a sociopathic freak, like everyone thought. I knew that if it was anyone else, I'd be furious with them for making me drop my guard, but I couldn't bring myself to be mad at John. Even if he would never know. _Wait,_ I remembered that John was still here, he was so close. If only I could go and speak to him, see his face, apologize for my unexplained absence. An idea popped into my head, planting itself there, I tried to push it away, but after it had settled, there was no way I'd be able to ignore it. I just wanted to see him again; I wanted to apologize to his face, even if he was sleeping._ To give me a little peace of mind, _that was what I told myself as I slipped out of the study, barely making a sound as I made my way swiftly to the spare room where John was staying. I reached down and grasped the door knob, the loose handle rattled as my hands shook more and more profusely. As I quietly opened the door and crept in, I realized what a stupid, ridiculous idea this was. If and when John woke up and saw his supposedly dead best friend by his bedside, I could only imagine what might happen. But as I turned and spotted his sleeping figure tangled in the bed sheets, I quickly forgot about the risk. My heart was beating erratically and my head was screaming at me to turn around and leave, but my feet carried me forward until I came to a stop near the head of the bed. My chest was still pounding, but my mind had cleared up. Now all that I could think of was John.

His chest rose and fell consistently, never missing a beat. His eyelids fluttered and his nose scrunched as dreams played in his mind. His still had his clothes on from today, he had probably been exhausted, forgetting to change into the stripy pajamas I so dearly loved. I noticed his cheeks were a lovely shade of pink, and I felt mine turn an even darker crimson as the thought crossed my mind. I had a sudden urge to reach out and touch him, but I didn't want to disturb his peaceful sleep. I felt too tall, looking down at John, so I got on my knees, folding my arms to rest on the bed. I gazed at his face, so innocent and even childish without the wrinkles that usually appeared during the day whether from stress, worry, annoyance, or sometimes even disappointment.

"John, I'm so sorry. For all of this," my voice was barely a whisper, "But mostly for leaving so soon, without an explanation. I wish I could tell you everything, tell you what you mean to me." I felt a tear slowly trickle down my cheek. "John, you're my best friend. No, you're more than that. You were the one person who looked at me with unending wonder, even when everyone else looked on with disgust. You said I was brilliant when the rest of them said I was freak. You believed in me, even when _I _didn't. You came when I had no one, you were there when I needed someone, and you are more important to me than anyone else." I paused, taking a deep breath before I continued. "John, I hope you have a wonderful life. I hope that no one ever hurts you the way I have, and that someday I'll just be a bitter memory in the back of your mind: 'The Fall of The Reichenbach Hero'. That's what they're saying, isn't it? The press, going at it like wild animals." I chuckled softly, a small, sad sound. Pathetic, that's what it was. I steered myself back on track, my eyes soaking in every last detail of John's face, calm and at peace. I wanted to remember him like this. "Go, live your life and forget about me." I winced; it hurt to hear the words coming out of my own mouth. I was about to stand, about to leave and never come back, I was satisfied with my goodbye. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. To leave the one person whom I had not only liked, but even loved. I leaned in closer, until my nose was almost touching his, and lowered my voice so I could barely even hear it.

"John Watson," I started, not sure I'd be able to finish, "I, um- I love you." Tears were now pouring silently down my face as I pressed my lips to his forehead, wishing with all my might that we could both wake up back on Baker Street and realize this was a just a twisted, insane dream, but no such luck came. I was ready to leave now, with my heart in my hands. Standing to sneak back out without rousing John from his sleep, I heard a whimper and a rustle of sheets from his bed. I whirled around, dropping back to my knees to check if he was alright. His brow was furrowed and a look of pain crossed over his face, so calm a moment ago. His breathing was ragged, and I began to panic, wondering if something was choking him or hurting him. Then it hit me,_ Nightmares_. I looked at him, my hands hovering over him, not sure what to do. He thrashed around for a moment, his hands reaching towards me for something that wasn't there. _Or was it?_ I thought, but I knew that he was asleep; he couldn't know that I was just a few inches from him. But I couldn't resist as I reached out and grabbed the hand grasping the air near me. I immediately saw his whole body relax, his breathing return to normal. I held his hand, stroked his palm, running my fingers around his wrist, tracing the veins, light blue and purple against the softer, more translucent skin on his forearm. I saw the corners of his lips turn up slightly, and thought for a moment, _maybe he can feel me here, maybe he knows._ Somehow, somehow John would know. I felt him move around a little, never disturbing our interwoven hands. I looked around the room, and soon got lost wandering once again around my mind palace. The door I had refused to open earlier now slightly cracked, light pouring out and dancing across the floor where it had spilled. I smiled to myself, and the thoughts slowly began to drift into a blissful, and much needed sleep.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! I'll be posting another chapter tonight, hopefully… I'm starting a one-shot soon, so be on the lookout for it! Have a good day **


	4. 4, Hello John

**A/N: Okay, so this chapter is kind of short, but it is from John's POV. I'll post another chapter tonight to (hopefully) make up for the length of this one! **

Terrible nightmares flashed on the inside of my eyelids, Sherlock's body and face, bloody and smashed on the concrete. I reached for him, tried to wake him up. But he wasn't moving, his chest motionless. I felt my throat constrict, and tears burning at the back of my eyes. _No, Sherlock, don't be dead_. I grabbed his hand, trying to pull him back, but when he didn't grasp back I knew it was too late. I started to cry, sobs racking my body, when I felt another hand squeeze mine. I looked up at Sherlock, and he stared back at me with his piercing blue eyes, bright and alive again. Everything disappeared; I couldn't feel anything except for our hands, still together even in the darkness that I was covered in. I couldn't see at all. Usually that bothered me, but right now I was okay with it, sleeping with no interruptions.

All too soon I began to rouse from my sleep, everything fading except for the hand intertwined with my own. My eyelids fluttered open, and I immediately looked down at my hand, wondering how I could still feel someone holding my hand if…

"Sherlock." I could not believe what was happening. There was no way- I saw him dead. Dead! On the sidewalk outside Bart's hospital; he couldn't be here. I stared at the man, the man that I'd loved since the first day we met, the man I'd watched commit suicide. He stirred, and I slackened my grip on his hand, then just letting go completely.

"Argh, wh-" He began to stand, but collapsed onto the floor where he'd been sitting for who knows how long. I jumped out of bed, trying to help him. I checked his pulse, positively dizzy with relief as I felt it in his wrist. He looked skinnier than I'd ever seen him, if that was possible. I hesitated a little before picking up his body lying on the floor, and setting him on my bed. A moment later, I watched as he regained consciousness. I could feel my eyes widen in shock as he sat up, rubbing his face. His eyes met mine, and I jumped up, backing into the wall.

"No. No, no, no, no, no. How are you, what the _hell_ is going on?"

"Hello, John."


	5. 5, Secret Stash

**A/N: Hope this sort of makes up for the last chapter! WARNING: THERE WILL BE DRUGS IN THIS CHAPTER, AND MORE EXPLICIT SCENES IN THE NEXT CHAPTERS. PLEASE READ THIS WITH CAUTION.**

"How are you, what the _hell_ is going on?"

"Hello, John." I knew I'd made a mistake coming in here, I should've realized that falling in love with him was a terrible mistake. But I couldn't have helped it. I looked at John, backed against the wall, clearly shocked. He looks as if he's seen a ghost. _He probably thinks he has!_ I remind myself. I waited, not sure who was going to speak first.

"Sh- Sherlock, is that you? Please don't tell me this is some kind of sick joke." I could hear the disgust in his voice as he thought of who'd want to do this to him. Then I realized that it'd been_ me_. I realized _I_ had done this to him.

"Dammit, you were DEAD, on the sidewalk. How are you here? What even happened? Sherlock, what the hell is going on? This isn't funny. What the hell…" He mumbled to himself a bit, trying to wrap his mind around what was going on.

"Dead, me? Seems a bit boring." I reply, watching his expression go from confused to completely furious.

"Boring. BORING? ARE YOU SERIOUS SHERLOCK?! I spent how long thinking you were GONE. I thought you were dead!" He started to yell, everything that had been bottled up inside him since that day at Bart's surfacing.

"What? Did you just decide to jump off the top of a freaking hospital for FUN? And then let your best friend think you were dead? What was even going through your head? Why'd you just leave me?" Tears were openly rolling down his face as he simmered down, the anger and grief leaving his system. His knees began to shake, and he leaned up against the wall for support. His breath was ragged as he tried to regain his composure, but failing miserably. With his head in his hands he frantically tried to pull himself together, panicking when he couldn't. I stood, wasting no more time, and crossed the room stopping inches from his flustered figure.

"John, I am so, _so_ sorry." I said, not even beginning to cover how terribly apologetic I was. Reaching out to him, I wrapped my arms around his shaking body. He hesitated, then pulled me closer, burying his face in my chest. I held him tight, committing every second to memory, not wanting this to end. He started to say something, mumbling into the fabric of my shirt.

"I thought," He paused, trying to stop the tears long enough to get a few words out. "I thought you were gone," pause. "And that you'd just left me, all alone," another pause. "Don't you dare leave me again without telling me why." He pulled away, just far enough so he could look me in the eye. I took a moment to search through his face, looking for something, just_ something_ to tell me he felt the same for me as I did about him. I looked at his tear-stained cheeks, and quivering lip, seeing hurt and sadness, but not love. Then I looked at his teary, blood-shot, _beautiful _eyes, and quickly lost my train of thought. I pressed my cheek to his, breathing in his scent. The one I'd missed so terribly, and had thought I would never smell again. I heard him gasp a little, but I stayed exactly where I was. My hands moved to his waist, pulling him just a bit closer to me. As I did so, I felt his hands trace up my back, and his fingers tangle themselves in my hair. I leaned in until there was no space between us. John pulled my forehead to his, and I looked at his face, now slightly flushed, and might I add, a bit _giddy_.

"Sherlock," He began, looking at me as if he might find an answer on my face.

"Hmm," I replied, touching his nose with my own. I looked and saw pale, sickly white skin touching warmer, golden flesh.

"What are you doing?" He asked me, not in disgust, but pure curiosity.

"I have absolutely _no_ idea." Our lips found each other in a matter of seconds, and I relished each moment. I felt his grip slacken on my hair as my hands moved to his face, gently caressing the smooth skin of his jawline. This was all so simple; I had no idea why I'd run from this my whole life. _Maybe because no one wants to be around a freak. No one wants to put up with you and your crazy, ridiculous antics all the time. How do you know John even does? _As the thought passed through my head, I froze. Maybe he was just shocked, maybe none of this was real. He might not mean this at all. I pulled away, unwillingly. John looked at me, questions arising in his eyes.

"Sherlock, what is it? Are you alright?" He asked, and in the few moments of silence I decided to run.

"Sherlock, is everything-"

"I'm sorry John, I'm so sorry." And with that I ran out of the room, past a very confused Molly, and out the door.

I caught the next taxi, jumped in and practically shouted the familiar address at the cabbie. "221B Baker Street," realizing that I'd shouted, I added in a quieter voice, "and make it fast please." As we pulled away from the flat, I saw John standing at the door, puzzled as to what had happened. I turned around, pressing my forehead to the cool glass of the window, staring at the road moving so quickly beneath us. When we reached Baker Street, I thanked the cabbie, paid quickly, and hopped out, watching the vehicle speed away. The world seemed to move around me in slow motion, but every move I made felt unreasonably quick. Climbing the few steps to the door of the flat I yanked the door open and ran to the sitting room. I looked around for my secret stash, panicking when I couldn't find it. I threw my books on the floor, opening the covers, trying to remember which one was hollowed out. _Ah-ha!_ I thought,

As I found the cigarettes, lighter and needle hidden away in one of my many books. My hands shook terribly as I removed a cigarette from the package and lit it, puffing furiously as I tried to prepare the needle. I knew John would be following close behind. I tapped the side, the air bubbles coming together and forming one. I didn't bother putting the book back, knowing John would find it sooner or later, and then went over and sat myself down on the couch. I finished off the cigarette, squishing the butt on the ashtray, and reached to yank up my sleeve as John crashed through the front door.


	6. 6, Cab Ride

**Hello everyone! Thank you so much for your patience! I've had a bit of technical difficulties lately… Sorry I wasn't able to update sooner! But I think I will be posting a few chapters right now, to make up for it! Thanks again, enjoy:**

**(JOHN'S POV… AGAIN)**

"I'm sorry John, I'm so sorry." Those were the last words he said before running out of the room, narrowly avoiding Molly on his way down the hall.

"WAIT! Sherlock! Come back, you said you weren't going to leave me again!" I shouted, as I ran after him. When I reached the door, he was getting in a cab, and I just barely heard the address as he shouted at the cabbie. _221B Baker Street, he's going to our flat. But why would he go there? Unless… _His secret stash. Without a second thought, I grabbed my shoes, not even bothering to put them on, and hailed down the next cab. I directed the cabbie to our flat, asking him to take the back road in attempt to make up some time. Knowing I couldn't do much from inside the taxi, I sighed and bent to put on my shoes. I should've grabbed him before he ran out of the room, I could've stopped this. I thought of all the terrible things that could happen if I didn't make it in time. I couldn't move fast enough. In my head I saw Sherlock, lying on the floor unconscious. I thought of him, his heart stopped, dead for real this time. My throat constricted as I realized I could lose him again, and I had only just gotten him back.

What had even made him run away? Had I done something wrong? _Well, you did kiss him,_ but he had kissed me first. Was it something he'd seen in my eyes, or my face? He had always been a bit unpredictable, but he'd never done anything like this before. _What, pretend to be dead, then come back and kiss you to as an apology? _ I don't think that anyone would've expected that. I wondered whether or not he'd ever even kissed anyone before; he wasn't one to deal much with feeling and emotions. According to him, they were boring and distracting. But most everything was, when it came to Sherlock. I certainly was surprised, but not at all in a bad way. I'd been attracted to him from the first day, but had been unwilling to admit it –even to myself- until the whole incident with Irene Adler. I remember practically carrying him to his bed, and sitting there for the longest time hoping he'd be alright. In the time I'd spent practically carrying him home and tucking him in bed, I had realized that I did have feelings for him; and watching him fall from Bart's, it had been like a blow to the head. The pain was so terrible that I woke almost every night with a physical pain in my chest from his absence.

I had no doubt that he'd hidden from me for a reason, there was something wrong, something had happened that day on the roof that Sherlock had kept to himself. Obviously he'd known what was going to happen, and he had time to tell Molly; _unless Sherlock had decided to just show up at her door after supposedly dying._ But that wasn't exactly the best idea. I was jerked from my thoughts as the cab pulled up next to our flat. The ride seemed to have taken forever, but I realized it had really only been a few minutes. I threw some money at the cabbie, telling him to keep the change as I ran to the door. I was fumbling stupidly with the door handle; my hands didn't seem to work right. A moment later I pushed the door open, slamming it behind me as I bolted up the stairs.


	7. 7, Falling Apart

**This is where my writing takes a bit of a turn for the worst… Feel free to point out mistakes! WARNING: Characters may be a little OOC. Apologies.**

**(BACK TO SHERLOCK'S POV)**

John ran up the stairs, appearing in the doorway before I could inject the needle into my adrenaline spiked vein.

"Sherlock!" He came over, carefully grabbing the drugs from my shaking hands and looked down at my pathetic figure.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? We agreed on cold turkey. No more." With that, he took the last of my secret stash to the kitchen, no doubt disposing of them the best he could. I brought my knees up to my chin as he took away my last escape route. I could already feel my body aching from withdrawal, and I tried to focus on something else. I heard John, muttering to himself as he rinsed the contents of the syringe down the sink. Everything was shaking, and I felt small as I sat there, curled up and vulnerable. John's harsh words, and the disappointment clearly evident on his face, hurt. I knew that I'd upset him. I barely noticed when he came back into the room. I choked back tears as he watched me break, wishing he'd just leave me so I could fall apart privately. But he stayed there, just watching me for what seemed like eternity. I closed my eyes, my dignity disappearing entirely as the first few sobs escaped my lips. I had never lost my composure so much in front of one person before, in fact, I'd never lost my composure in front of _anyone_ before. I didn't realize that John had come over to me until I felt his arms around my quivering body, secure and steady. I clutched him, like a small child to his parent as he held me in his lap, rocking back and forth, trying to calm me down.

"Sherlock, it's alright. You're okay." He said, whispering in my ear. His nose nuzzled my cheek, and I shivered as he brushed his lips against my temple. One hand traced my spine, ran through my hair and across my face, while the other stayed firmly wrapped around me. I whimpered a small protest when he attempted to set me down next to him. I saw him smile a little, and then he picked me up, still cradling me against his chest. He took us into my room, the door opening with a slight tap from John's foot. He fell across the bed on his back, all the while keeping a firm grasp around me. I stayed as still as I could, letting John rework the pillows around our bodies pressed together. As he readjusted my floppy limps for the fourth time, a strand of hair fell over my eyes. I didn't exactly like it, but I was too relaxed to make a move to fix it. Intending to just ignore the tickle on my face, it surprised me when John reached up, brushing it back into place. His fingers lingered over my temples, and I could feel his breath dance across my lips. It was all too much; his gentle touch, his forgiveness and patience, and above all, the fact that _he was a straight man_. I suddenly realized that he would leave me soon, and it made me nervous. The panic rose in my chest, and my heart accelerated, my breath coming faster and tears pouring down my face harder than ever. I tried to get a good grip on John, tried to pull him closer, but I couldn't do it. He seemed to understand, and pressed me against his chest. I rested my head comfortably under his chin, my lips pressed to the hollow at the base of his neck. We stayed like this for a while, neither of us making a move to get up –not that I would've let him, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have been able to stop him.

After what seemed like forever, I felt John start to move underneath me. I knew it. I started to get up, moving off of him so he could leave. I felt tears well up in the corners of my eyes, and I blinked them back furiously, not wanting John to think he had to stay.

"I'll go grab your coat, if you'd like." I said, trying to keep my voice even.

"What are you talking about?" He replied, looking genuinely puzzled.

"Well, you'll probably be wanting to get your things from Molly's, then go meet up with Sarah, like you had planned. I'll be out by the time you get back."

"Sherlock, I-"

"Really, it's fine. Molly won't mind me staying a few more nights while I figure out what to do, and-"

"Sherlock,"

"You had plans already, and you should keep them,"

"Sherlock, listen. I-"

"And you've probably moved on, and I should've known that you don't need me."

"SHERLOCK! Maybe if you actually shut up for a minute, you could hear what I'm trying to say!" I stopped talking abruptly, staring at John. What could he possibly have to say? Hadn't I just said it all for him? He laced his fingers with mine, our bodies still pressed together. The touch was so simple, so acquitted, but it still sent a shock up my spine.

"Oh, Sherlock. Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock…" John chuckled to himself as he thought about what I'd just said. "I don't want you to leave any more. You are going to stay here, in this flat with me; even if I have to make you. I broke up with Sarah a long time ago. You knew that! I don't know how she even made her way into the conversation." He paused, actually wondering.

"Well I thought, you know, when you moved to leave that maybe you had a date. And Sarah was the first of your ex-girlfriends to come to mind." I shrugged, a little embarrassed to be so far off.

"You don't need to explain, it's okay. It's all okay." He said, reminding me of the first crime we'd solved together, he'd said the same words to me when asking whether or not I was in a relationship. I smiled a little at the memory. John lowered his voice to a whisper, his lips brushing my ear. "And trust me, I missed you so much. Every day I thought about you, Sherlock. Don't think for one second that _I don't need you_." My cheeks burned at the sincerity of the words, and John chuckled, stroking the blush with his thumb.

I sighed, and closed my eyes. I was tired of everything, and now all I wanted was to get some sleep. I curled myself up into John's chest, my ear pressed against his heart. The constant beat was soothing, and I immediately fell into a much needed slumber.


	8. 8, Just Go

**I must apologize once more for the crap writing. Sorry.**

**(JOHN'S POV)**

"You don't need to explain, it's okay. It's all okay." I said, remembering the night of our first case. I had asked whether or not he was in a relationship, but he was 'married to his work.' I smirked as I saw the look on Sherlock's face. We were obviously on the same track.

"And trust me," I paused and took a deep breath, inhaling Sherlock's unique and incredibly addicting scent. "I missed you so much. Every day I thought about you, Sherlock. Don't think for one second that _I don't need you._" I put much emphasis on those last four words, hoping that they would somehow make it through that crazy man's thick skull. I watched his face go from a soft pink to a deep red, and couldn't help reaching up and caressing his beautiful cheekbones. He sighed, and I knew he was probably exhausted from the day's events. I stayed as quiet and still as I could, the only thing I could hear was my own heartbeat, making such a racket that I had no idea as to how Sherlock was sleeping. I looked down at his sleeping face, and realized that without the tight expression he wore in attempt to hide everything he felt, it resembled that of a child. Oh, how I had missed him. He didn't even know.

Then again, maybe he did.

"Trust me."

I waited for a few minutes longer, just to be sure that he was sleeping soundly, before sneaking off to my room to change into something a little more comfortable. I went through my drawers, grabbing the first things I saw that weren't trousers or a jumper. I ended up in an old t-shirt and a pair of sweats that I hadn't bothered with since I received them as a gift a long time ago. As I pulled the sweats on, I thought about brushing my teeth. I decided against it, after yawning multiple times while trying to formulate the thought itself. I was tugging my shirt down when I heard a loud thud from the other room. I finished pulling on my shirt, then ran out of my room and into Sherlock's faster than I would've thought possible. I burst in to find him on the floor, tangled in a mess of sheets. He cried out as I entered, crossing the room in a few quick steps. I sank to my knees, and gathered him up in my arms. He didn't react to my touch, in fact, he didn't react to anything. His face was frozen, a shadow of fear echoed in his eyes, and tear tracks covering his face.

"What happened, Sherlock? Sherlock, talk to me. What's wrong?" I asked, trying anything to get him to open up.

"I thought," he began, his baritone voice almost inaudible, "that you had…" He choked on the words, curling himself up even more than he already was; it was like someone had slapped him across the face.

"You left." He said, finishing the sentence. His head turned to me, eyes full of heartbroken questions; the fear I had noticed earlier not gone, but simply pushed to the side to make room for the new emotions. With all of this, there wasn't room for tears.

"You were leaving, John. You want to leave." His voice was hollow and empty, lacking the warmth and energy it usually possessed. I was horrified to hear the words coming out of his mouth, I didn't know what he had thought was happening, but I'm pretty sure that he had the wrong idea.

"Sherlock, I-" I tried to begin explaining, but he cut me off before I could, his voice cold and weak, no traces of life left.

"Just go."


	9. 9, Bad Dreams

**Okay, so this is chapter 8 from Sherlock's POV. I think he might be a little bit out of character. I tried to keep him contained in his sociopathic box. But obviously that wasn't going to work.**

**(Sherlock's POV) **

The dreams came in and out of focus, never the same yet never different. Sharp knives and loaded guns, screaming and then silence. I felt myself, tossing and turning on the bed, trying desperately to pull myself from the nightmare, failing every time. I wanted to scream out; I needed someone to pull me into reality and away from these horrors. But I kept my mouth shut. I thought it was over, I thought that it was all done.

I was wrong.

I flashed back to the day on Bart's, the whole scene began to replay, but this time I wasn't on the roof. I was watching this all from a different angle:

John's.

_But if I'm down here, then where is he?_ Ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I looked around, expecting to see him standing close by, not noticing me. Nothing. Glancing down at my hands, I hoped that I _was _John, and I was watching what he had, feeling what he felt. I turned my ghastly pale hands over and over, thinking at any moment they'd be replaced by tougher, suntanned ones. I stared for a few more seconds, willing them to change; for John to be safe, here on the ground. My breath was ragged, and my heart was pounding as I looked up to the rooftop.

There he was, on the edge of the hospital roof, looking at me. He lifted his phone to his ear, and a moment later I heard mine ring.

"John," I answered the phone, trying to figure out what he was doing.

"Hello, Sherlock." My heart skipped a beat when I heard his voice, and I continued to look up at him, his body so small against the vast grey sky above him. _Now you _know _you're dreaming…_

"I'm done with your stupid magic tricks, I don't know why I didn't walk away when I met you. I should've known you'd just be trouble." His voice faltered over the phone.

"No, I- I'm glad you didn't, don't talk like that. I wouldn't be here…" I trailed off, not able to put into words what was happening, the feelings choking me into silence.

"You left me all alone, Sherlock. You lied to me, and left me. I was so alone, and I thought I had finally found someone that I could trust, and you led me on. Then you made me watch you die. You can't just come back and expect me to just forgive you. It doesn't work like that. I trusted you, Sherlock Holmes. I trusted you with everything."

"Why would anyone ever trust me?" I muttered to myself.

"I don't know anymore, Sherlock. I'm done with your ridiculous antics, and abnormal behavior. You really are a freak; an unloving, heartless, bloody sociopath. Just leave me alone! You've already messed up my life enough. Let me get on with it and stop bothering me. You really are a psychopath. Now I know why you don't have any friends. I get why no one wants to be around you!" John said, his temper flaring.

"John, I told you before. I don't have friends, I just have one. You, you're my friend. John, wait- don't leave! Don't go! No, JOHN!" I yelled at John, but it was too late. I watched as he tipped himself over the edge, falling.

Falling.

I watched in slow motion as he fell the last few feet and hit the ground with a sickening thud; too many bones snapping, too much blood, too much pain… I saw his body, bloodied and broken, and I tried to run to him. He needed help, and he needed it now. But no matter how far I ran, no matter how fast, his body was always just out of reach. I watched as he took one last breath, and then he stopped moving completely. _You could've saved him, why didn't you just run faster? WHY DIDN'T YOU STOP HIM? _The voice in my head screamed rude names and insults of all kinds, my self-contempt slowly rising. _Damn you, _I heard the little voice say, _why didn't you just let yourself die? It would've been so much better. No one would've gotten hurt. _John would've, you saw how upset he was. I tried to fight back. _And how much do you think it'll hurt when you leave him again? _I would never do that. _Yes, maybe you wouldn't, but what if he did? What if your precious Johnny boy left you? _I choked back a sob as the voice became threateningly familiar. _Oh, good. You're keeping up. _It said, as I realized who it was. Moriarty. But he was dead, I saw him die! _Oh, yes, I _was_. But so were you! Two can play this game, Sherlock. _How are you still alive? I demanded, not seeing any possible way for him to have survived the gun shot. _Oh Sherlock, I didn't. _

_This is all you._

It felt as if my entire world was crashing down around me, burying me in the rubble. I was still outside the hospital, and John was still lying on the ground, dead. I cried out his name, hoping he'd hear me, but he didn't stir. The realization of what had happened hit me full-force and I tried to scream, never able to make a sound. I closed my eyes, the emptiness I felt in my chest widening and consuming me.

"John, JOHN! Come back!" I shouted his name, hoping he would hear me, hoping he would wake up and come back, but there were no signs of life. I screamed at everything, kicking whatever I could manage, and muttering an indecipherable string of curse words. I looked up at the looming hospital, and I knew what I had to do.

I was on the rooftop moments later, not bothering to figure out how I got up here. I ran to the side of the building, looking down once again, seeing the sidewalk so far below me.

I felt oddly at ease, even when I knew what I was about to do.

"John, I hope you're happy. You left, and I let you. But if I don't have you, then I don't have anything. If you aren't in my life, then there isn't any point in living it." I took a deep breath, much more calm compared to the last time I was in this situation.

"I hate you. I hate you for caring, and for being so concerned. You were supposed to help me pay the damn rent, not make me doubt myself, and everything I'd thought! You made me so vulnerable. This is your fault!" I shout to the wind, reminding myself, my voice echoing in the emptiness.

I peered down at John's body, still lying on the pavement, a little to the side of my destination. Everything was still as I stepped onto the ledge, my breathing even and my heart rate still normal. As I got ready to push myself from the ledge, I felt someone behind me, a hand on my back, guiding me down. I didn't need to look, knowing exactly whose fingers were pressed into the dip between my shoulders. Everything rushed past me as I fell, all except for the sidewalk, which came closer and closer every second.

I knew it was time.

He was gone,

And I was ready.

Ready to-

I woke in a cold sweat, on the floor. The pillows and blankets strewn across the floor. I was breathing heavily, warm, wet tears cascading down my face. _It was all a dream,_ I assured myself.

_Wait._

_Where's John?_

I looked at the bed, but he was gone. I looked around the room, nothing. Was it true? Did he really leave? I thought he loved me. But obviously he never had. I repeated everything he'd said to me in my nightmare, but it wasn't his voice anymore. It was mine. The little voice that was always in the back of my head, going on and on, never stopping or giving me a break.

And it was right.

I _was_ ridiculous and abnormal. I really was a freak; an unloved, heartless, bloody sociopath. I just had to let him go, let him leave and get on with his life like he wanted. John left me. I had hurt him, and I would never forgive myself for the pain he'd try to deal with. Every bit of self-hatred that I'd felt over the years suddenly burst to the surface, and I focused on every one of the insults, examined the wound it left, wondering how I could recreate it when I needed to. My face blank and my heart broken, I sat there and took every bit of abuse I had to throw at myself. I needed to get away from this; I needed something, something…

John burst in to the room, but I ignored it, focusing instead on the words and thoughts and the _pain._ It seared through my heart like a branding iron.

"What happened, Sherlock? Sherlock, talk to me. What's wrong?" He asked me, his voice ricocheted around my mind, but I paid it no attention.

"I thought that you had…" I swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump in my throat. Clearing my throat,

"You left." I said, without betraying any emotion. I had so many questions, but I knew he had no time to answer them. He didn't want to.

"You were leaving, John. You want to leave." I tried to keep my voice even, but it came out an unsteady whisper.

"Sherlock, I-" He tried to start 'explaining' as he would put it, but I interrupted his excuses with a few words, void of any feeling.

"Just go."

I bit back tears as he slowly walked out of my room.

Our flat.

My life.

**And now, authors notes! As I know you all adore :P Sorry for leaving you with such a heart-wrenching ending for this chapter, I do intend to make up for it with excessive fluff in later chapters! But for now, it shall be known as the never-ending story of grief and sadness and CLIFF-HANGERS! Mwahaha, WARNING: Next chapters get a bit gory, proceed with caution.**

**You have been warned. **


	10. 10, Mycroft Helps

**Chapter Summary: Mycroft ALWAYS knows.**

**Always.**

**(John's POV) **

_Just go. _The words ricocheted around in my head as I slowly walked down the stairs, grabbing my jacket and heading to the front door. He'd thought that I left. Something happened in the time it took me to get to my room and change. I racked my brains, but was too frustrated and bewildered to try and figure out what had happened back at the flat. I stalked down Baker street; trying to look at the situation at hand with a rational mind. I didn't look back.

I had been out walking around Downtown London for at least twenty minutes, and it had done nothing to make me feel better. I glanced up and down the street, looking for a stray cab, but decided to just continue walking around. Sitting idle in a cab right now didn't seem like a very good idea. After walking for another ten minutes, I entertained the notion of heading to Sarah's, perhaps ask her for advice. But once again I turned down the idea of jumping in a cab and heading to find someone who might be able to help me. There was nothing anyone could do to help me. I thought of Sherlock and began to hopelessly wonder what had caused him to want me to leave. I tried to figure out why. I wanted to go back, I couldn't just leave things the way they were. _No, he can deal with you being gone for a few hours; he left you thinking he was dead for much, much longer._  
I was hurt and upset -I had only just gotten him back- plus, I thought that he'd wanted me. That's why he'd come back, right? _Maybe you said something. Maybe he got the wrong impression and you hurt him. Maybe, maybe, maybe… _Nothing was for sure! I didn't know _exactly_ what had happened. I didn't know _exactly_ what I said; or if I had even said anything at all. I sighed, and looked around for the nearest coffee shop, just needing a nice cup of tea to calm down my frenzied thoughts, and hopefully silent the fear that something bad was going to happen at 221B Baker Street while I was away. I quickly diminished the thought, telling myself that he wouldn't do anything to rash, he knew me. He knew I'd come back.

Right?

I don't know why I didn't just turn around and head back, but as I ordered a cuppa, I started to wonder why I had even left at all.

I sat down in a slightly uncomfortable leather armchair with the hot cup of tea nestled in my cold hands. I took small sips at a time, trying to just 'delete' –as Sherlock would put it- all of the horrible thoughts tangling themselves in my head. I watched as multiple people staggered into the nice warm shop, shivering from the cold and ordered coffees, laughing and talking loudly, enjoying themselves. My heart sank a little, as I remembered the days that my friends and I would pop into a coffee shop just to warm up our hands. We would be out, all over the city, joking around, and having a grand old time. When it got too cold for us to handle, we'd go into the closest café, warm ourselves up, then head back out.

I was almost done with my cup of tea, when I felt my phone vibrate from inside my jacket pocket. My heart skipped a beat, and I hurriedly set down my cup and grabbed my phone, hoping it was Sherlock. I opened the message, and scowled at the screen. It _was _one of the Holmes brothers' but definitely not the one that I wanted to hear from.

_What happened? Ran out in your pajamas. Not good. –MH_

I sighed, frustrated with Mycroft for spying on us _again_, but slightly worried. He was right, I _had _run out in my pajamas, I looked down at my impromptu attire and felt myself blush slightly. I never looked like this out in public.

_Yeah, a bit not good. Why? And how did you know? _

I texted him back, and got a response quickly.

_He needs help. Better be heading home soon. Don't know if he'll last. –MH _

_What do you mean? And if he needs help so bad, why don't you go?_

I angrily sent the message, wondering why Mycroft always came to me with problems involving Sherlock.

_Don't waste time. Go home. Now. –MH _

The last text sent a shiver up my spine, and I rushed out of the coffee shop, hailing down the next cab I saw.

"221B Baker Street, as fast as you can." I told the cabbie, who sped away from the café. I couldn't stop moving, and my heart raced. How long had I been gone? It had to be an hour and a half at the least. I grimaced as I thought of all the possible things that could've happened in the time I'd been gone. A few minutes later, the cab pulled up opposite the flat, and I hopped out, throwing some money at the cabbie, and running across the street.

"SHERLOCK!" I yelled, running into the flat. "Where are you?" I looked in the sitting room and the kitchen… Nothing.

Bathroom? Nothing.

I peeked in my room, little hope of him being in there. As I suspected, nothing.

I had a sinking feeling in my stomach as I approached his door, not sure what scene was laid out behind it. I tapped softly.

"Sherlock? Are you in there?" I said quietly, my ear pressed to the door, waiting for a reply.

"No, John. Don't." His answer was almost silent, and even then it sounded strained. My heart was racing, panic pulsing through my body. I turned the knob slowly, and I heard Sherlock protest. But I pushed the door open, my breath catching and my heart skipping a beat when I saw what was behind it.


End file.
